


Don't Freak Out

by subtropicalStenella



Series: SWR: PTAU [8]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Kanera Baby, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 22:51:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13890813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtropicalStenella/pseuds/subtropicalStenella
Summary: WOO IT'S CANON





	Don't Freak Out

 So Hera has this game she likes to play. The whole family, really, but she's the important one here. Basically: put something in the blind guy's hand, make him guess what it is. It's part of my rehab in general and the more things I learn to identify by touch, the less often I'll be handed something and go “What the shit is this?”

 

And it's completely random. Sometimes just one or two things. TV remote, bagel.

 

Others are a whole string of things. Chopper’s vest, winter sock, cellphone (smartphones are horrible, by the way, thank fuck for fingerprint scanners and voice to text because that's pretty much the only way I can get Siri and normal phones with buttons don't have text-reading-app capacity) coffee cup, spice shaker half full of… rosemary, glass marbles, metal ball bearings the size of marbles, Hera’s feather earrings, Ezra why the FUCK would you peel a lemon it feels exactly like a weird tangerine that you can't smell because no peel means no oils and you know it you monster. I'm getting better at figuring things in packages out, by the way it rattles and weighs and things like that, but we bought a label-maker that does 3-D labels anyway. It's a good party trick though, makes it look like I'm psychic.

Of course the best part of playing this game with Hera is eventually, if I get enough things right, (or wrong, or she gets bored, or planned it that way all along) it eventually becomes things like the back pocket of her shorts including her butt, her bra, her LACK of bra, and so on. 

 

This one has me stumped.

 

It's plastic, very light. About the size of an eating utensil but thicker, with a divot in the middle of one side and a cap over the end that Hera told me not to take off that doesn't feel like a marker cap. 

 

“I got nothing.”

“Want a context clue?” 

“Please.” 

 

She grabs my hand and puts it on her stomach.

No.

Lower.

Under her belly button. 

 

That… that can't be possible.

I knew she'd skipped her period, but that happened sometimes. Not a big deal. 

(I'm not psychic, it's survival experience. After ten years you learn to predict these things and preemptively restock supplies accordingly.)

 

“You can't have kids.”

 

THREE doctors said so, once when she was a teenager and two later. One of those just a couple years ago, after a scare when I was still in the field because like FUCK were we going to bring a baby into that hell. 

 

“Apparently I can.” 

 

But… now? We have a good thing here. A life.

A family.

 

“Please don't freak out.”

 

I'm not, actually. I probably will in a few hours or days because holy fuck how do I handle a baby, also, holy fuck how do I handle a baby while BLIND, but right now I'm just sort of absently twirling the test between my fingers and petting her stomach.

 

“Caleb I'm freaking out, you can't freak out too.”

 

Probably should kiss her or something so she stops freaking out.

There we go.

  
Guess I have nine months or so to do a shitwhack of research and figure out if anyone will judge me for attaching bells to a toddler’s shoes. 

"More like seven. Sorry I waited so long to tell you."


End file.
